


Sparring

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fisting, Gangbang, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz just needed to get rid of a bit of charge. A spar is a good way to do that, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fizzix](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fizzix).



The training room was a good place to let off steam, really. Jazz had been on his way there with a twitch, hoping that someone would be there for a spar, and more than that, hoping that if there /was/ someone there, that they'd be able to keep up with him. He wasn't particularly feeling the need to hold back, right now.  
  
It was nearly empty. The only ones there were the twins and Ironhide and they were already locked in a heated dance of fists, a brutal thrust and parry that left dents where they hit.   
  
Appreciation, because anyone who could fight like that was damn hot, especially when mouths were open only to bring in air to cool heated systems.  
  
And the twins were good. Anyone could see the fluidity in their motions. Practiced in a way that spoke of millions of years of action. Built and bred as show ponies in the Pits, they had learned to curb their more flamboyant style into something just as deadly in half the time.   
  
Ironhide wasn't giving any quarter though. The older mech was firm on his pedes, not as quick as the twins, but he made up for it with strategy. Ducking and blocking one twin with the other, even as they circled and weaved around him.  
  
Which, really, was only serving to make him hotter.

He watched with flaring optics as they fought, until finally Ironhide caught Sideswipe by the ankle and tripped him up, and after that, it was no contest. With one twin down, he maneuvered Sunstreaker around and took a hit to his hood in order to grab the yellow mech's wrist and twist him into a locked position, pushing him down on Sideswipe as the mech scrambled to get up.  
  
"Yield."  
  
Sunstreaker's voice was rough, but clear, and Ironhide chuckled and released them both.  "Was damn close though, ya gonna beat meh more'n Ah beat ya one of these days."  
  
Sideswipe sat up, draping his arms over his knees and laughing, "Don't lie, old timer. We aren't going to beat you more than a quarter of the time for another million years."  
  
"Then ya better keep workin', mech."  
  
Jazz flowed over, doorwings twitching, and offered them all a slow clap. His field and frame radiated heat. "Mah mechs. Ya know how t' put on a show."  
  
Ironhide took one drink of that field and his own unfurled to mesh, "It was the show ya interested in? That's not what yer frame says, mech."  
  
The twins looked at each other, then back at Ironhide. They usually fragged after a good workout like this, so... why not invite in Jazz. He was a good frag, and it would mean that more than one valve would be filled before the evening was out.

Jazz caught the looks, and well, it wasn't a spar, but it was still a fine way to work off overcharge and by the looks of it, none of them were going to complain.   
  
He slipped up, hips taking on just a hint of a sway, and flared his doorwings wide in display. "Then maybe yah should help a mech out." Because he was reasonably sure that this would end up in a puddle of everything on the mats and some busy cleaning drones.  
  
Reasonably.  
  
Sunstreaker was the first to break form, his brother still climbing to his pedes, and slipped behind Jazz to catch his hips. Pressing in close, lips climbing up his left audial horn, and whispering against it, "I wonder if you wouldn't mind being taken from both sides. Showing us just how flexible you really are, hmm?"  
  
Jazz's vents caught, and he arched just a little against the frontliner. Visor covered optics locking on to Sideswipe, the grinning mech coming forward to press against his front. Nipping at his lips, then his jaw.    
  
"Ah can take whatever yah throw mah way, Sunbeam."  
  
The golden warrior chuffed, but took the horn in his mouth to suck on it. Making Jazz arch up again, scraping armor and plating as he was trapped between the larger twins.  
  
And then Ironhide was at his side, and Jazz wasn't entirely sure that he was in control of this situation any more.

"Mech, we gonna turn ya so topsy turvy ya ain't gonna know which way is up an' which is down."  Ironhide nudged the twins, and suddenly Jazz was cold and off balance and servos were on him and pulling. One leg up, his back being bent until he was arched backward nearly parallel to the floor. Being held there by three sets of servos that somehow managed to be everywhere at once and keep him up and Jazz really wasn't sure how that was happening.  
  
But he knew that he could see  legs, and that meant that his mouth was...  
  
Oh.   
  
When his leg was lifted high, and he was put nearly into the splits with legs between his...  
  
/Oh.../  
  
Jazz could honestly say that he'd never been in this position before, but the rush of energon and the tang of aroused fields only made his own charge start to rise again.  
  
He gripped the golden thighs, mouth brushing against a spike panel, and let his own snap aside. He was aroused enough that there was a sheen to his valve, but if they were planning what he thought they were, he was going to need a heck of a lot more than that going on down there.

 Sunstreaker purred, stroking his jaw and neck. A digit dipping into headlights, more probing at his valve. Stroking. Touching. Not gently, because they were revved up and then some, but not uncomfortably either. Pressing in, rubbing against the first ring of sensors and stimulating lubricant to run. Stretching him, because they /really/ were going to do what he thought they were, and he was going to need a lot of stretching to take them both.  
  
And that thought sent a shiver through him, because Ironhide nor Sideswipe was small.  
  
Sunstreaker let him mouth over his panel for a bit, plucking wires and finding places to make the saboteur shudder, but eventually releasing his spike with a soft groan as Jazz's mouth found it immediately. Licking in long swathes of oral lubricant over the biolights against the bottom, then sucking on the head like one would an energon pop.  
  
The digits in him kept stretching. Pulling at the rim side to side and top to bottom, and he couldn't help that his leg trembled (the one that was still on the ground especially), or that his hips jerked from the sensation. Twinges of almost pain, because he hadn't prepared himself like this for a loooong time, and they were moving just a little quicker than he could actually take. It took a near nip to Sunstreaker's spike to get them to slow a little, and Jazz suckled on the node right beneath the broad head apologetically.

A groan, the gold and black spike expanding a little as energon was pumped into it. Jazz was good with his mouth, even upside down, and he was starting to feel the urge to thrust and thrust hard.  
  
But not until his brother and Ironhide were in as well.   
  
Jazz helped as best he could, relaxing calipers and rocking his hips to help take their fingers in. One of them was buried knuckle deep into him now, and the other was still pulling, stretching, on his rim. It felt good. Pleasure/pain that wasn't real pain, just the idea. The suggestion that it should be.  
  
Sunstreaker had to stop, to hold Jazz away from him. Reaching down to squeeze the base of his spike with a groan to keep himself from overloading. Watching with heavy optics as the black servo was thrust in a little more, a little more, until Jazz moaned and the widest part of it slid into his valve.  
  
Ironhide could have watched that for days. How that servo disappeared into the black and white mech, valve trying to flutter calipers closed on it and failing. Not now, when they already were revved near to bursting and ready to go, but someday, and he made that note in his processor. To find Jazz again, after this.  
  
But a servo in meant that they were close to the width of both spikes, and really that was about all they could stand anyway.   
  
Jazz was eased out of, and both Ironhide and Sideswipe released their spikes to pressurize nearly painfully.

The veteran grunted, and he held his and the red frontliner's spikes together. Sideswipe spreading Jazz as wide as he could manage, vents hot, frames steaming and Sunstreaker took that as his opportunity to thrust his spike into an open mouthed Jazz.  
  
Just, of course, as the duo down below decided to press into his valve.  
  
They'd done this before, and the timing showed. Jazz would have made a comment on it if he hadn't been arching and moaning around Sunstreaker's spike, valve trying desperately to clench down over the almost painful pressure of double spikes inside of him.  
  
And nice mecha they were, they even gave Jazz a moment to compose himself before starting to thrust.  
  
Ironhide and Sideswipe didn't thrust together. They alternated, simply because Jazz hadn't been stretched out enough to take the girth of both of their bases so close. Maybe in the future, but now they were more than ready for action, and this would give it to them. Sunstreaker thrust each time one of them did. Twice as fast but not as deep. Shallow, quick thrusts that didn't make it more than halfway through Jazz's mouth before they were gone.  
  
Jazz was in the Well. He had to be. His sensors were going crazy, his frame was arched in a position that had no reason to be as sexy as it was, and his processor was feeling just the slightest bit fuzzy as energon rushed there from the slight decline.  
  
They weren't gentle.   
  
Between the spar and the time spent preparing him, they drove toward overload with purpose. Thrusting deep and harsh into his valve, a pretty little squelch whenever one pulled out and the other pushed in, because lubricant was pooling, then dripping down the insides of his thighs.  
  
Sunstreaker stopped short of hips hitting his face, but that was more due to his shallow thrust than intent, and Jazz had a feeling that there was a reason his visor wasn't in the line of fire, as it were.  
  
His own frame was on fire. Neural net snapping with pleasure, lines of charge licking their way over to key points and staying there. Static arcing over his plating, jumping from gap to gap. He couldn't move, he was damn near helpless in this position. Off balance and being /held/ up, and for the life of him he found it exhilerating. It made his arousal surge, legs trying to shift wider, liquid electricity building in his tank as the twins and Ironhide fragged him from both ends.

Jazz couldn't even tell when it kicked up a notch, but when he realized, he felt his calipers clenching and some unseen signal that had Sunstreaker's pelvic plate hitting his chin. Thrusting hard enough that the tip of his spike hit where the curve of his intake would be if he'd been upright. Going past the bottom of his jaw piece and visible to Ironhide and Sideswipe. Spike making the intake bulge out with each thrust, earning a groan from Jazz at the feeling.  
  
He was going to have paint everywhere. Transfers littering his thighs and pelvic plate, because they were thrusting hard enough to jolt him each time. Making him cry out against Sunstreaker, finally feeling a digit pressing against his anterior node. Rocking it back and forth and his frame tried to convulse and suddenly he was choked out of a wail and shaking through overload. A pop, and a thin stream of smoke rising from his hip as a relay blew, and everything clenched. His valve, his intake, his servos, his legs. Everything, and at the end of his own came a rush of fluid into him that only drew it out as sensors were reignited.  
  
Jazz had to have blacked out, because when he rebooted his optics, he was on the mats. Empty and arranged comfortably, an exjausted laugh on his lips.  
  
The others were gone, but he had a feeling that that wouldn't be the last time he came to watch them spar.


End file.
